"It Started with a Map" - A Pennine Journey
- Sarah Lister
- 7 days ago
- 5 min read
I felt nervous about setting off on this run, mainly at the thought of crossing Bleaklow under an aptly ominous sky. Two previous experiences on the moor had been unpleasant and loomed starkly in my mind. I chose not to think about them too much and focused instead on getting prepared for a new experience. I decided to take my sturdy raincoat and an extra layer in case of heavy rain.
The night before starting the journey, I had given my statement to Derbyshire Police about the unfortunate deceased man we found beneath Kinder Downfall during a guided 1-1 walk at the end of June. After carefully relaying the sequence of events and approving my statement, I felt I had taken another step towards closure. The next would be to revisit the Downfall alone the following day, to hold him and his family in my thoughts for a few minutes, and then to let it all go.
As with all great adventures departing from Edale, I started my Pennine journey at the Penny Pot cafe. Two vegan rolls in my pack and a warm smile from Nuala set me up for a good day. I walked up the road to the Nags Head Pub and turned left. I’d followed the start of the Pennine Way many times before, but this felt entirely different. My legs would be taking me beyond the places I know so well.
My pack felt heavy, the summer air muggy. I wondered if I’d be able to run at all, how long it would take to reach Standedge Cutting, if it was going to be too much. Onwards. My sluggish walk turned into short running splits. My pack started to feel lighter, I became stronger.
I noticed quizzical looks from people early on, and this would continue throughout my journey. Some men literally shook their heads at me when I ran past them, others muttered under their breath. I thought about how sheep and cows often give me the same look, which amused me. There’s no use in worrying about what others think.
I soon dropped down from Kinder Scout to Mill Hill, where a sheep was using the stone marker as a scratching post, then made my way along the flagged path to the road crossing onto Bleaklow. This was a good running section and I was happy to see dark clouds lifting to reveal an intermittent blue sky. Crossing over the road and running solo through Devil’s Dike felt like passing a threshold. I found comfort and safety in focusing on navigation while being tucked into the shrouded groughs of Bleaklow.
At Bleaklow Head I was on new ground and excited to see what came next. The section towards Torside Clough was remote and beautiful, my senses sparked by the strong scent of heather as I waded through the glorious purple haze. My nerves were settling and I began to relax. Views ahead were simply green hills and gritstone edges, a familiarity that was just like home in Edale.
Crossing over Torside Reservoir presented me with my first problem - mother cows. They didn’t seem bothered until they realised I wanted to go the same way as them. I got between the herd as they lazily strolled along the footpath, but they wanted to stay together. We all sort of tolerated each other for a short while, but then one of the chief mother cows lost her cool and told me off with some big huffs and stern glances. Luckily I could see a diversion straight down to the road, so off I toddled. Phew!
My focus from here shifted towards keeping my pace up and the promise of seeing my friend Sara once I’d finished for the day. I smiled when I remembered that I’d done my first ever ultra event with her - the Peak Divide - and what a weekend that was! I couldn’t wait to see her and to catch up in the pub. With only one day's notice of my arrival in Diggle, she had kindly offered me her spare room and a shower. I felt extremely grateful and that was the perfect incentive to keep on running.
As I ran over rocky outcrops and hills, then through cloughs and alongside reservoirs, I thought about the people I know who have run the Spine races, and some who have won them. I had so many questions in my mind about how they do it. Seeing them cross the finish line on camera can not possibly represent the effort it takes for them to arrive there. I admired them more than ever.
I am one of many Spine race dot-watchers, but my relationship with the events has been confusing. While it seems an obvious event to take part in because I live in Edale and I love long-distance running, I had turned my back on it for years. That was until I met my partner Jon, who has completed three spine race events, wears the t-shirts, and has taken me on a number of excellent Pennine Way recces up north this year.
Running with Jon and being witness to his dedication towards training and preparation for the Summer Challenger North this year, I noticed that a new air of possibility was opening up inside me. We had met other people who were preparing to race, and when they asked me “are you doing it too?” I noticed my feelings of dismay and curiosity when I said no.
When Jon suggested that he could buy my entry into the Summer Spine Sprint race for 2026 as a gift I felt really excited. I imagined myself as a participant instead of a spectator and started to study the Pennine Way South map. While the National Trail had been there all along, it felt like the race ticket permitted a new adventure.
Standing in the drizzly car park next to Brun Clough Reservoir at the end of my first day on a two-day adventure to Hebden Bridge, I reflected on the 28 miles behind me. I made it! I noticed that my legs were scratched and coated in dry peat, and my face felt tight with salt crystals. I was ready for a shower and a brew, and just like that, Sara arrived to collect me. It felt so good to receive a hug!
This is part one of a two-part blog. Part two is coming soon! Follow me on Strava, on Instagram: @about.the.adventure and @edale.trailrunner, and Bluesky for more photos and updates.
The phrase "It started with a map" is a quote attributed to J.R.R. Tolkien, referring to his process of creating the world of Middle-earth. He emphasised that starting with a map helped him avoid inconsistencies and allowed the story to naturally emerge from the geography.